


A Girl so Fine (She Makes You Scream Hallelujah)

by dumbasses_in_love



Category: Downton Abbey, Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Fem!Castiel, Genderbend, Genderbending, Multi, fem!dean, fem!destiel, genderbent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbasses_in_love/pseuds/dumbasses_in_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fem!Destiel - Deanna works as a kitchen maid in a Downton Abbey inspired (other than that there's no relation to that fandom, not really) household. Castielle is the rebellious youngest daughter who has just returned from Schotland, where she was sent by her family to, maybe, finally, learn to fit into early 1900s aristrocracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT, WARNINGS:  
> None of the above apply, but I think there should still be some warnings. I made a post of all the triggers, and individual warnings will be posted in the chapter summaries. That way, people who might be triggered by something can just read a bit about the trigger and see if it's safe for them to continue or if they should stop reading/skip a part, without spoiling it for the rest :)
> 
> Masterpost: http://dumbasses-in-love.tumblr.com/post/95571925433/a-girl-so-fine-trigger-masterpost
> 
> Generally, it's good to keep in mind that this is a very different world from our own, so feminism and (homo)sexuality are still very very new. Basically: women have no rights and no sexual feelings whatsoever (except they do, of course), and the whole idea of homosexuality as an identity rather than an act (between men) was brand new.
> 
> Title comes from Paolo Nutini's - Scream.

Deanna fetched the kettle from the stone cold counter top and carried it to the sink to fill it with water from the tap, then swung it onto the stove in one suave movement. She turned on the heat, turned around and paced towards the back door, where the distinctive knock told her that her brother had arrived with fresh produce. The storm hit her in the face when she opened the door. Now, if there ever was, was not the time for idle talk, so she silently took the basket from the giant passing for her brother.

She closed the door after him, her right arm hooked around the baskets handle while the rest of it rested on her swaying hip until it reached the oaken table with a loud thump and a sigh. Deanna's eyes shifted down from the produce to her pistachio coloured apron, smudged with ash. She quickly recovered herself and went through the vegetables her brother had provided. Spinach, potatoes, lettuce, cucumber, onions, loads of apples -

“Deanna!” a stout woman dressed in a pale pink frock and beige apron called, busting through the hallway and into the kitchen. “Have you finished?”

“Not yet, Mrs Otis. I am waiting for the water to cook, but the serving trays are all laid out,” Dean answered breathlessly.

“Have you finished the fires?”

Deanna's mind went back to the black stains. “Why, yes, Mrs Otis.”

“Well then, go change your apron. I say it's about time you did,” Mrs Otis said before taking the produce from under Deanna's nose to prepare breakfast for the family.

“And be sure to be swift! I need you to do the cucumber sandwiches.”

~

Deanna only turned back around long enough to nod a short “Yes, Mrs Otis” before pacing the rest of the way to the worn, wooden staircase just beside the kitchen door in the hallway. Pulling up the hem of her dress she was light on her feet and tripping her way up the stairs and down the landing, passing many doors and the odd maid or valet and many pictures of inhabitants from before her time, although they went by mostly unnoticed these days.

~

When she finally reached her shared room, she turned the doorknob, sneaking in quietly. She closed the door after her by leaning her back against it, exasperated. The door felt cold and firm and with every deep breath she felt the wood massaging her back while her hands laid flat against it.

She brought her hands up to her face. They cupped her nose and mouth for a few breaths, and then caressed the skin beneath her eyes, her cheeks, her chin, sweeping any stray tears aside.

Composing herself, she started to undo the apron's bow on her back. She felt wobbly without the support of the white panel door, but she ignored it in favour of unwrapping the strap that got stuck around her bun. The cotton pulled along one of the pins, however, and the carefully assembled hair got dragged apart. Deanna's hand flew to her head and she yanked out the pins one by one while she stepped over to the bed and let herself fall onto her stomach. She ran her hands over her scalp a couple of times before picking up her golden blond locks and twisting them around each other until they locked into a simple bun that she could once again pin together. She knew by now that some oxygen deprivation never failed to calm her down a bit, yet she was relieved when she pushed herself up from the mattress by her elbows.

~

Back in the kitchen she learned that she was to make sandwiches for one extra family member, one whose reputation preceded her by miles, although Deanna had missed the gossip entirely.

“One time, she refused to come downstairs at all for a week. Just locked 'erself in the library while 'er parents made excuses for 'er to the man she was being flung at,” whispered someone whose voice she recognised as Meg's even through the giggling mess at the kitchen's dinner table.

“And she once threw 'er wine into 'er fiancés face for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I'm telling you, she's men'al!” Meg continued.

Deanna didn't know the girl, but if Meg hated her this much, Deanna decided, she was probably worth trying to stay on the good side of.

From other gossip, she understood that Lady Castielle was the family rebel, who was sent off to Scotland to have her be taught some manners - probably as far away as possible to keep her  _ awfully modern  _ views on life from reaching their aristocratic connections, Deanna figured. Deanna may not have come from an aristocratic family by far, but she had worked here long enough to know a thing or two about keeping up appearances.

Meanwhile, she worked in silence. A couple of times, the others tried to engage her into the conversation, but Deanna refused every time to add anything more than a sarcastic remark that made the others wonder whose side she was on, anyway.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a cucumber sandwich and croissant filled haze and by the time dinner had rolled around, Deanna didn't know how to stand without feeling the urge to cut off her feet altogether.

~

Dinner was served upstairs while she proceeded to clean the floor, although she didn't know why; the stone floor did nothing if not collect dirt in its never-ending creaks and the oven would never be clean again, in any case. All the same, she worked long after she had cleaned the dishes and everybody else had gone to bed. Finally, she put on the kettle for one last cup of tea that she could take up to her room after she had finished the final task of bringing out the laundry. It wasn't strictly allowed, but Deanna felt that there should be at least one benefit from having to work the longest hours and as far as breaking the rules went...at least this one wouldn't cost her the job; her head, maybe, but not her job.

~

She closed the door forcefully against the tumultuous weather and reached for the key to close it for the night, but found a handful of draught coming through the key hole instead. Her eyes quickly caught up with her hands, but her tired mind had only begun to catch up when her head got hit against the opening door. Deanna's instinct must have signed out already, because instead of smashing the door right back into the intruder's face, she stepped back once, pulling the door with her until it scraped her foot through her worn leather shoes.

Deanna recognised her from the pictures and the stories colleagues had told, not essentially to her, but nobody had mentioned her eyes. They were...  _ so blue. _

“I'm sorry, don't fret,” Castielle said softly with her left hand hooked around the side of the door, just above the handle, “I'm Castielle,” she added hastily, “or Lady Castielle, as you should probably say.”

“Yes, milady, I know who you are, but what are you doing outside?”

“May we come in?”

_ We?  _ That's when Deanna finally noticed the little bundle of fur in Castielle's arms.

“Why, yes, of course, I'm sorry milady,” Deanna answered, stepping back and opening the door fully for Castielle to enter. On her way in, she fiddled in the left pocket of her beige, wool coat and planted a key in Deanna's hand with a tiny smile.

“Can I help, milady?”

Castielle looked up at Deanna from the kitchen floor where she'd just set down a little dog, brown and black, but mostly wet and ridiculously big-eared.

“Have you some water and leftover food? Or... I shouldn't want to lead you into trouble of course,” she adds rapidly.

Deanna couldn't help it. She had a weak spot for puppy dog eyes, even if the owner was messing her life up and even if this particular stare gave a whole new dimension to the meaning of it. Luckily for these two, Deanna could appreciate the irony, so she nodded and a minute later, returned with a couple of towels, a bowl of water and some bread in her arms to the woman petting the puppy and shushing it. She placed the food in front of the puppy and reached for Castielle's hand to help her up.

“Shall I take your coat milady, so you can dry yourself?” Castielle nodded and let Deanna help her out of her coat. A white ruched shirt and ankle-length dark blue skirt appeared from under it. Castielle pulled the pins out of her badly done knot until her long, dark brown curls sprawled themselves out over her back. Deanna stepped around Castielle to hand her one of the towels. Her eyes catch a blue tie that, Deanna was sorry to say, did not match her eyes. She almost managed to control her smile.

“What is it?” Castielle asked with the towel pressed against her scalp.

“I'm sorry milady, but your... tie. It's reversed.” Castielle wrapped her hand around it and pulled it forward.

“Oh. Yes, I see.” She started pulling it off. “I dressed myself and I can't say I'm much good at it. All these pins and knots and buttons... They are enough trouble without you having to manage putting them on by yourself.”

“I can see _that_ , milady. Now, I hope you don't mind me asking, why did you put it on, milady?”

“Ah, yes, well I'm afraid I'm rather attached to it. I hardly go anywhere without it. Fetching this little lady would have felt odd should I not have,” she simply shrugged. She switched her attention to the little lady in question, who was happily eating her bread. “I couldn't leave her, you know. She was crying for help. I heard her on my way to the book shop, but didn't think anything of it until I heard her again on my way back.”

Deanna followed her gaze. The little one did look rather starved. She heard the water boiling and wondered how long it had been already.

“Would you care for some tea, milady? I could make you a cup to bring to bed.”

“Yes, I would. Thank you... I'm sorry, I don't appear to remember your name from before I left.”

“That's true, milady. I only started about a year ago. My name is Deanna, it's a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a little bow, before turning to get the kettle.

“It's a pleasure to meet you too, Deanna.”

Deanna took two cups from the cupboard - one "good" one and one for herself - and placed them on a tray along with a full royal blue pot. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Castielle using the other towel to dry the dog.

“Here you go, milady.”

Castielle got up and promptly took a seat at the table. “Come sit with me,” she said to Deanna's bewilderment.

“Why thank you, milady, but I couldn't do that, it wouldn't be proper!”

“You are worrying about that now? Deanna, please, I would like you to. Now don't make me order you.”

Deanna reluctantly sat at the other side of the corner, at the end of the table. Castielle broke a short silence with a sound of mild disgust.

“What is it with the English and their Earl Grey. It's so bitter. It's about time they invented Lady Grey tea. I should prefer it,” Castielle said casually, obviously trying to make Deanna feel less awkward.

“I can understand that,” Deanna answered. “Milady, if you don't mind me asking,” Deanna paused for some sign of consent, “what are you going to do about the dog?”

Castielle sighed. “I don't know. My family think me crazy enough without a stray. I shouldn't think they would allow me to keep her. Yet I can't image abandoning her. Not knowing where she may end up if I do.”

Deanna just nodded once while one of the corners of her mouth went up slightly.

“I will help you get her upstairs, milady. Tomorrow morning, I shall be the first to get up, so I can make sure she's alright before anybody else may find her in your room. Although I feel that I must warn you, milady, as I am not a dog person.”

“Thank you, Deanna. That would be of great help.” She stood up. “We should get to sleep now.”

Deanna followed suit. “I shall hang your coat up first, milady. I'll be up in a minute. Will you bring the dog or should I?”

Castielle's eyes shifted towards the dog. She had fallen asleep at her feet. “I will bring her. Perhaps you could bring the food?”

“Of course, milady,” said Deanna with a nod, then finally turning the key of the back door. “I'll be right there.”

~

Deanna made her way to Castielle's bedroom as quietly as she could, which was saying something, as being as still as humanly possible was in her job description. She knocked on her door twice, just to make sure Castielle wouldn't think it was the wind.

Deanna opened the door rather clumsily, what with the old papers, cloths, more bread and a bowl filled with water in her hands, but she made it in without any damage.

“Where should I put this, milady?” Deanna whispered.

“In the adjoining bathroom, I think, Deanna. Thank you.”

“It's not a problem, milady.”

Deanna walked into the bathroom, the door of which was already open, and laid out the dog's bed, litter box and food where they couldn't do any harm. Castielle came after her with the dog in her arms, smiling.

“You seem to know what you're doing, or better than me, in any case.”

Deanna rested one arm on her thigh to help her turn towards Castielle and looked up at her, before answering, “My brother, Sam, he used to have a dog. He hit him with his car, so then he felt so guilty he felt he had to keep him. He survived, but he was old, so he didn't live very long.”

“Hmm... I see.” Castielle put down the dog next to her on the white marble tiles, at which it immediately walked, rather clumsily, to Deanna to lick the hand still at her thigh.

Castielle laughed at Deanna's face. Her eyes were wide open with shock, staring at Castielle as to ask  _ _ What do I do _ _ _ ? _

“She certainly doesn't appear to agree with you.”

“What do you mean, milady?”

“That you're not a dog person. She rather likes you,” Castielle said smiling at Deanna's hand. Her voice sounded soft.

“Well I say it's high time we went to sleep then, milady. Before even more strange things start to happen,” Deanna jokingly said while standing up and heading for the door to the hallway. She halted before turning the handle and turned towards Castielle, who was petting the dog to let her know everything was in order, she could sleep safely in her new bed.

“Do you need help getting ready for bed, milady? I know I'm not a ladies' maid, but –“

“That's alright, Deanna. In my opinion, no woman should ever look good in the morning,” she said in her usual cheek. “Good night, Deanna.”

“Good night, milady.”

  
  


 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING TRIGGER ALARM
> 
> Anxiety/Panic disorder, more info:  
> http://dumbasses-in-love.tumblr.com/post/95572351068/a-girl-so-fine-triggers-anxiety-panic-disorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is again. This chapter used to be seperated into a few. Therefore, if you were up to date before, then you probably have read everything except for the part from: "She sat on the bed". 
> 
> !!! IMPORTANT !!!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!
> 
> That last part is actually what I want to talk to you guys about. This story will, from now on, have a lot of content that might trigger some people. I don't want to spoil the story for everyone and in some cases (the dub con mostly) is so "light" that I am not even sure if I should warn you at all.
> 
> My solution was to make some posts on my tumblr regarding the triggers. That way, if you think you might be triggered by something, you can check the post for that specific one and it will tell you a bit more and also which parts you might want to skip. I will post a masterlist in the story summary and specific chapter related posts in the chapter summaries :)
> 
> I hope that's clear, but if it isn't, pleeeease don't hesitate to contact me!!! ;)

Deanna slept soundly, which was no surprise, she thought, after the day she'd had. She'd awoken before the alarm went, albeit barely. This did surprise her as even if she was used to short nights, she did usually need her 4 hours. She stretched herself from under the white cotton covered duvet, her bare feet climbing up against the wall for lack of space. She continued to fetch her robe from the head board's right corner and pulling it along her freckled arms as quickly as they'd allow her to. Silently shoving her feet into a pair of socks and then slippers as to not awake her roommate Charlie; she thought about the little creature that had managed to simply waltz her way into her life thinking she could just take whatever. And Castielle of course. But that was of no importance; Deanna could deal with a headstrong woman such as her. She could admire her, even. A dog, however...how on earth had that happened, exactly?

~

Dressed in her usual frock and apron, Deanna left for Castielle's bedroom. She strode through the empty halls as if she had done every single day for over a year. They were mostly white but never only that - never plainly so. The walls were all lined with luxurious and classical moulding and the wooden floors all looked like they would survive another couple of centuries, easily. When she arrived at Castielle's room, she slipped in the way she usually did when on her fire lighting rounds. In fact, it wouldn't be a bad idea for the future to bring her fire equipment with her. In this manner, she'd have an excuse to be in Castielle's room at this ungodly hour. Oh well, she was in now, almost unseen.

The little dog came running to her before her eyes had even adjusted to the darkness enough to see her coming, in effect doing what Deanna had tried to avoid; waking Castielle.

Deanna noted how the room already smelt different than usual. It smelt alive, rather than empty and unused. The mansion had enough of those to begin with. It smelt like honey and sandalwood and musk and clove. It smelt like everything Deanna would cherish in a good whisky.

“Deanna?” Castielle's voice sounded gruff, more than it did yesterday when she had come stumbling into the kitchen in the dead of night in that drenched beige coat and the tie that was reversed.

“Yes, it's me, milady. I came to see to the dog.”

“Of course, Deanna. How is she?” She looked up from her pillow, her eyes hooded but her smile soft. “I rest my case.”

Deanna chuckles softly, trying to get the dog to stay low. “I'll take her out for a couple of minutes, while I go out and milk the cows, shall I milady?”

“That's a brilliant idea, Deanna, thank you,” Castielle said, sitting up.

Deanna picked up the little mutt from between her feet, wished Castielle good night and went to fetch some string from the kitchen cupboards so she could improvise a collar and leash for her.

“Now please sit still so I don't strangle you, ok?” Deanna whispered as kindly as she could to the wiggling mess at her feet.

“Be careful now, or I _will_ get your mummy,” she told the shrimp. It does the trick long enough for her to get her head through the loop.

“Yeeees, good girl! Now let's go out and get us some milk, shall we? Nooo, nooo, nooo, silly, you've got to walk _with_ me.” Deanna eventually runs out of patience and decides to pick her up in stead, so at least she can get the two of them away from trouble before it sneaks up on them.

~

The weather had quieted down, thank Heavens, so there was no need for her to wear more than the coat hanging beside the back door. Carrying the puppy in her right hand she made her way to the barn. Of course, Shrimpie didn't stay quiet for long and started wiggling out of her arm before long. It wasn't a problem, however, as they were approaching the barns already, so she put her down on the grass beside the path. As she manoeuvred her oversized paws through the jungle, it creaked from the sound of dew crackling. She pulled Deanna along to the nearest bush.

“Eeeeasy, Shrimpie. You're not going to make fall down, are you?”

Shrimpie turned her head at Deanna at the sounds coming from her mouth unexpectedly.

“Yeah, yeah, let's go.”

Deanna ended up picking her up more that she liked to admit, but it did speed up the process, so she shouldn't complain, should she.

  
  


Deanna managed to get the dog back before anyone else was awake. Whether this made her feel glad or even more irritated, she couldn't tell, so she drowned her self in work rather than feelings, as she ought to.

~

Over the next couple of days, history repeated itself. Deanna got up earlier than she normally would to take the dog out to the barn. She stubbornly kept calling her Shrimpie, even though Castielle had expressed discomfort at naming her at all. On the other hand, she did chuckle at the name Deanna had given her. This may or may not have contributed to Deanna using the name even more from that moment on.

Other than their early morning meetings, which could hardly be called “meetings” as Castielle was asleep during most of them, they didn't see each other. There was simply no reason to. Castielle and her family spent their days where-ever, and Deanna had one task only; to do her work out of the Crowley family's view. Her's being primarily in the kitchen only added to that problem.

Besides, she had gotten more efficient at kidnapping Shrimpie and walking her. She didn't care much for early mornings, let alone moving them forward, even for 20 minutes, so improved efficiency was welcome.

In any case, her day off didn't come a day too soon. She did her morning duties as usual, but she was free to do as she pleased for the following 12 hours.

~

Deanna very much enjoyed the long ride on her bicycle over a path that lead her over the hills, sprinkled with red and orange and yellow, even some green-leafed trees, through valleys with hunter green shadows and fields of pretty long grasses. It was ever so gorgeous. It wasn't that she didn't usually enjoy it too, as she came here often, however the feeling of having left all troubles at the mansion did wonders, even if she was more tired than ever.

“Hey Sammy!” Deanna said, rubbing her baby brother's head as he pulled carrots out of their soil. “How's things?”

Sam stood up, hugging his sister.

“Whaaa-What are you trying to do there, black hands? It's a new dress! Or it was until you had to get your filthy hands all over it,” Deanna spat, twisting her back to see if she could reach the spots on her shoulder blades.

“Even for you, you're in a foul mood today, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, don't get your corset in a knot, it's nothing.”

“Hmmm, hmmm. Nothing.”

The things Deanna wanted to do to that blasted face of his...“I'm just tired, ok. That youngest daughter, Castielle, she came knocking on my door a couple of weeks ago with a mutt and I've been sneaking her outside in the middle of the night ever since.”

Actually, the things Deanna wanted to do to _that_ blasted face...

“You've been sneaking the youngest daughter o-?”

“Sam, no of course not,” Deanna sighed irritably, “the dog. I've been sneaking out the dog. I take her with me when I go milk the cows.”

“Ah. But I didn't even know she was back. Wasn't she in Scotland or something?”

“Yeah, well, I didn't either. Or well, I did but that was the first I'd seen of her.” Deanna shrugged. “And yeah, she was. Meg says she was sent to learn some manners, but who knows. I never asked.”

“Hmmm...”

“So how are things here?” Deana asked, dropping the subject.

“Good, they are good. It's been difficult since...dad...but we're coping.” He knelt back to the floor to continue his work. Deanna nodded understandingly while she sat down next to her brother, not wanting to comment.

“Actually,” Sam continued, more cheerfully than before, “Ellen and Jo should be here soon to help out with the harvest.”

“Jo's going to be here today?” Deana blurted out, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, and Ellen too,” Sam nodded, pulling out a couple of carrots. “Should be here in a couple of hours or so.” Deanna's heart was skipping beats at the thought of her seeing Jo and Ellen again, but she really didn't know why. So yeah, they had been great friends and the two had broken everybody's hearts when they moved away and they hadn't seen them in _years_ , but there was still another thought scratching itself forward through her mind and for goodness' sake, Deanna couldn't place it.

“Deanna,” Sam interjected. “I've got a question. It's serious, I'm afraid.” Deanna's movements stopped in mid-air, her hands grasping the carrots even tighter, although by that time she had pulled them out mindlessly.

“What?” she said with more venom than she'd intended.

“Have I ruined your dress for nothing or are you going to help me?”

“You son of a-” Deanna spit back, hitting her brother repeatedly in the arm.

Sam's hazel eyes lit up at his sister's explosion and his mouth turned into a broad grin before they turned back to form the words to make it all worse: “You love me really.”

“Shut your piehole, Sam,” Deanna answered, covering her hands in dirt and throwing a handful of it at her brother's head.

~

For the sake of efficiency, Deanna went to take a walk through the gardens nearer their - no _Sam's_ cottage. Deanna was secretly glad her grey ankle-length cycling dress had already been stained by Sam, because now she could enjoy the plants all the more. Admittedly, the garden wasn't at its most beautiful at this time of year and it wasn't as well kept as it once had been, but it didn't matter to Deanna. She merely wanted to feel the leaves run through her fingers, thorns and all, while she cut off the last of the overblown roses, and the smell the grass, and to find all these perfect shades of green all mixed within one tiny ball of moss living on the stone walls marking the edge of their land, and hear nothing but birds singing and chirping.

She passed many plants nearing the end of their flowering season, and was actually surprised to see, although she shouldn't have been after such an glorious summer, that the lavender her mother had planted all those years ago was still blooming, albeit not fully anymore. She sunk to her knees, wanting to fill her whole body with the scent that she had spent her whole life longing for. And God, was it worth now really ruining her dress for, for the earth was still damp and clung to the white and mint fabric.

She didn't smell what others would have - not the smell of lavender. She smelt her mother's home made soap. She smelt the days Sam, Jo and her spent here, looking for bugs in the soil. She smelt the love that her mother brought her at night when she couldn't sleep in the form of a bundle of sprigs of lavender. She smelt the cuttings Deanna had planted in front of her headstone.

~

Cutting off a bunch of the flowers, she heard feet behind her, probably snapping some plants that were hanging over the path. She turned around and got a face full of Jo, who had come running to hug her.

“Dean! I've missed you so much,” Jo said into Deanna's wavy hair, flowing over her back.

“You too, Jo.” Deanna placed her hands on Jo's waist and pulled her closer, refusing to let something stupid as absence make them anything less than the best friends they had been their whole lives. She twisted her head to kiss the golden hair when she saw just above her left ear. “So much.”

Deanna pulled away after she saw Jo's mother Ellen coming down the path, resting her hand on Jo's mauve cotton-clad shoulder, similarly to how she would do with a dog she wanted to make sure wasn't running away.

Ellen came to her, smiling brightly and cupping her face with one hand to make sure she could still reach her forehead for a kiss.

“How are you sweetie? My dear, you look more like your mother every day,” she added in utter amazement. “Oh I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that,” she blurted out when she saw Deanna's face crumble.

“It's good to see you too,” Deanna answered cheekily.

“Where's the giraffe?” asked Jo. Deanna sniggered, remembering the good old days when they sneaked up on a sleeping Sam and painted brown spots on him with mud. She knew Jo was reminiscing the same thing at that moment and she couldn't be happier.

“He's on the land, he'll be here soon. You'll probably miss him if you go there now, so let me make you some tea. Have you eaten?”

“Thank you Deanna, and no, we haven't, as we heard there was going to be pie.” Deanna's face lit up at the mention of pie. That particular rumour had escaped her, which was probably for the best as she would've eaten it all.

“There is? Well, let us see, then,” Deanna said, wiggling her eyebrows at Jo.

Deanna pushed the woman's shoulder, not even needing to tell her lead the way to the back door.

~

Having put the kettle on, Deanna went outside to fetch the luggage from the doorstep.

“See I'm just in time to help my little sister.”

Honestly, the first person to say that Sam had the greatest annoyed-meets-bored-face they had ever seen, hadn't met Deanna.

“I'm not your little sister, you arse.”

“Aaaaaw, look at your pretty little face.”

“Yeah, yeah, enough now,” Deanna said picking up a third case.

Sam looked at her, his eyes growing sad. “Deanna, are you alright?”

“Aaargh, stop being such a girl, Sam,” said Deanna. _Why do people always ask that if they know you're not._ “I hate my job, you know this, but as dad's not here anymore, there's nothing to be done about that, so now shut your mouth and help me.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said getting the leftover cases, not wanting to “help” Deanna by taking over one of hers despite them being much heavier by the looks of it. She in turn pretended not to notice the hint of pity in his eyes.

Deanna and Sam entered the living room once again. It was bathed in sunlight and Deanna couldn't help but smile at the view of the Harvelles, who had rearranged the seating area so they could all enjoy the autumn glow coming through the windows at the front of the cottage. It wasn't often that Deanna felt at home, even _at home._ This was genuinely one of those rare moments.

She stepped into the kitchen and sat herself on the small wooden table in the middle of it as to not to miss the boiling of the water. She removed her smeared off-white apron and hung it over the chair to her right carefully. Her eye fell on the lavender that she had stuffed into its front pocket. Her mind wandered back to her mother, when she would bring her cups of chamomile, lavender and honey on days that she'd rather not exist, usually after a fight with her father, and once after a certain policeman she’d rather forget threw her out like yesterday’s paper.

She didn't have chamomile, but she was interested to see what would happen if you took some good old black tea and blend in some lavender buds, so she fetched one sprig only...

“Hey Dean,” said someone, wrapping her arms around her waist and clutching their hands at her stomach. “I've really missed you,” Jo added softly, hooking her chin over Deanna's shoulder.

Deanna nodded. “I know. I missed you too, Jo,” answered Deanna as she tapped the top Jo's head with her cheek. She never wanted something more than this not feeling strange. She just couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. Maybe Jo, or Deanna herself, or both or maybe it was something between them that simply wasn't the same. Regardless, she acted as though nothing had changed, refusing to give into the doubt, because it was true, what she'd just said. She had missed Jo immensly.

“Careful,” Deanna warned her, reaching left for the kettle. Jo let go of her. She didn't like it, although she would never tell her so. She let out a breath.

“Let me take that,” Jo said brightly as she raised the tray full of flowery cups and saucers. Deanna brought the pot, as it wouldn't fit on there anymore. They settled next to each other on the worn leather sofa.

“How's it here, Sam? Are you doing well?” Ellen asked.

Jo looked up from watching Deanna fill the cups. ”You know, feeding people, planting things, the family business?”

Deanna now looked up herself, staring at Jo, squinting her eyes. “Really, Jo?”

“Yes, alright, maybe it was not my finest, but _the_ _point still stands._ ”

“We're doing well, considering we have more clients than we can handle. Dad left us with quite a burden there, actually. He could have managed so much more if he, you know, hadn't been such a fan of whisky.”

“Hmmm...” answered Ellen understandingly. She had known the old drunk longer than Deanna and Sam had been around. She had told them “he was like family once”, until John and Will had gone on a hunting trip together and John had come back alone. He hadn't been the same since and eventually, Ellen decided it was time to pack up and leave to another county and take over her uncle's bar. She and John hadn't spoken since and the children never saw each other, although they did write sometimes. It was not the same and when Mary died, that was the end of it.

“I hope you don't mind me asking, both of you...” She looked at them both to make sure. “We heard stories about your father, but they were strange and I'd rather hear from you want really happened. I mean, they said things about yellow eyed demons and such... you won't believe me if I told you.”

Sam looked at Deanna before answering, “He said it was a yellow eyed demon, because, you know, always the melodramatic charmer,” Sam actually sniggered at this point and Jo let out a sarcastic “ha”. “But it was just a yellow eyed cat who’d bit him. The cat seems to have given some sort of disease however, because dad died 10 days later.”

Ellen smiled at him heartily, patting both their knees reassuringly. “In that case, the gossip was surprisingly correct. I'm so sorry.”

“And Deanna, darling, what did you put in this tea?”

“I agree. Dean, it's too sweet.”

“You're too sw... I put in some horse crap. Thought you'd appreciate a good countryside beverage.”

“Pfffft, do they let you talk like this at the house?”

“No, that's why I come here.”

“Hmm, and don't you forget to!”

Deanna, having had enough of the girl talk, suggested they should get back to work before they would get at it again - and as much as she would have loved to work on the garden some more, anything that would make her hands dirty and her hair untidy could tickle her fancy, so they all went back to the land to harvest.

~

A good few hours later the sun had started to set and they decided they had finally worked enough for today. Ellen was begging Sam to show her some of the new horses, so Deanna and Jo went home to prepare supper on their own. Deanna climbed up the stairs, eager to get rid of the stiff tweed bicycle suit.

"Will I be sleeping in your room?" Jo asked casually, following her up while carrying the rest of her bags.

"Yes, of course, I won't be here either way," she answered. "Unless you'd rather stay with your mother in the guest room," she quickly added. And she had really tried her hardest not to give herself away, but her mouth curled up beside herself.

Jo hit her shoulder from behind. "Ooooh, no."

"I thought not," Deanna said. "That hurt, by the way. Where have you learned to do that? Used to be such a sweet little kitten."

~

She sat on the bed that had obviously been made up by Sam – too perfectly white – and pulled off her slim, leather boots and her stockings. Then, she walked to the grand cupboard to fetch one of the old dresses she had left here "just in case". It was a peachy colour, brighter than what she wore nowadays, and had hardly any rouches or lacy distractions. She preferred them like that, even if she wasn't exactly that working class and these dresses were hardly suited for anything involving other people. Non-family people, that is. For a quiet evening in with family, it was perfectly comfortable. That reminded her, this corset was going off. She never laced too tightly and refused to wear the health corsets that were in vogue, but that didn’t mean she detested the ones she usually wore any less.

“So how's life at the Roadhouse?” Deanna asked Jo, who was bending over one of her bags on the bed, trying to figure out where she'd packed that one dress...

“It's good, not much to say really,” Jo answered, slightly too blasé. Deanna stopped in her tracks.

“Although, actually there's something I should tell you.” Deanna looked at her expectantly, but Jo was concentrating on finding her dress without messing up the neatly folded piles, so she twisted to her left side to undo the cord that held together some of the leftover fabric.

“I'm... I'm getting married.” She finally looked at Deanna, trying to find some sort of clue as to how Deanna felt about that. How she should feel about that.

“To whom?!”

“His name's Gabriel,” Jo answered matter-of-factly. “He's actually a distant relative of the Crowleys. He's a good guy. He's terribly mischievous and sarcastic as hell, but he's got a sweet tooth and he's liberal. He's a good man, he...”

“That son of a witch!” Deanna swore under her breath at the knot in her hands, cursing herself for ever having bothered to add the cords to make the waist smaller, without making the whole skirt thighter. "These bloody cords won't un-aaargh!" She pulled at the cords like a child pulling at her arch-enemy-of-the-day's braids. Jo turned to look and grasped her hand, so she could see the knot. Although, that had been the plan.

“You're such an idiot,” Jo said smiling at Deanna, before hitting her in the head playfully. Deanna’s head tingled where Jo’d slapped her and she raised her hand to the spot to make sure it was still attached – the corner of her lips following the movement. Deanna let out a sigh, letting go of some of the tension in her arms as Jo stroked the outer knuckles of her left hand. She knew perfectly well that Deanna found it difficult to stay mad at her when she did that. She curled her fingers around Deanna's hand and started petting the ball of her thumb as well. Her fingers were rough and dirty and cold and thinkskinned, but that was alright. So were Deanna's.

“I did like your tea, by the way.” Jo kept staring at her utmost important job of rubbing her thumb over Deanna's knuckles expressionlessly. Deanna’s feet and arms, then legs started tingling until her chest joined the club, the tenseness never having left completely.

“Thank you,” Deanna replied to everything at once. She really did have the best friend in the world and her heart skipped a beat at the implication that she might be back forgood.

Deanna squeezed Jo's hand, asking her to help her with the knot. Jo stepped to her right and patiently fiddled with the cords until they losened up.

"Are you angry?" Jo asked quietly.

"About what?"

Jo sighed. "Gabriel. Us getting married."

"Nah," Deanna answered, wrinkling her nose and throwing back her head slightly as she spoke.

"Deanna, please, be honest with me. You're telling me no but I know that face anywhere."

"What face? I'm not mad." She turned to look if the knot was undone yet. It was. She took the cords from Jo and continued to undo the skirt, determined not to look at her best friend.

Jo stared at her, her eyes sparkling.

“I won’t marry him without you having met him first, you know,” she said reassuringly while taking off her own dress. It was modern, Deanna noticed. It had clean lines, and the bordeaux red colour looked amazing on her rosey skin. City life was treating her well.

Understandably, Deanna couldn’t do anything other than stare at her friend. She could feel the emotions crawling through her skin and even she could tell there were lots of them – either lots of different kinds or lots of some, but for the love of God, she couldn’t tell one from the other - let alone tell Jo about them. Instead, she buried them. It was really unfortunate how these stupid feelings just came running back like moths to a flame, though. Not to mention things were still rather awkward.

Deanna had by now managed to remove most of her clothing and was standing in front of this gorgeous creature she was allowed to call her best friend in an off-white drawers and chemise combination. The thin cotton was cut simply and only had some lace on her chest in a circle just above her corset. The thin cotton flowed effortlessly, clinging to her body only under Deanna's cream coloured corset and the hem just above her knees.

~

Jo broke Deanna's emotion-induced silence by saying: “I know we don't see each other often, but you are and always will be my best friend. You know that, don't you?”

Saying this, she pulled Deanna’s hand from her side to hold it in hers – giving it a onceover, tracing the cushions and the edges, the knuckles and the back to her nails with both of her hands. She knew Deanna wouldn't answer her, but she was confident that she could read the answer from her hands. Not in a psychic kind of way, but in a “I've-known-you-my-whole-life-and-I-know-how-you're-feeling-because your-hands-are-clammy-and-shaky” kind of way.

Except, this was new. The clammy and shaky part, that was not the Deanna she knew. She did know that they weren't moving too much and overstretching or generally tense, for which she was glad. Satisfied with the examination, she lifted Deanna’s hand to her lips and kissed the skin wrapped around the second bone of her two longest fingers.

Deanna slipped her hand out of the other woman’s hold and folded it around her cheek. Jo's hands let her slip, not moving, until she rested her fingers in the hollow of Deanna’s elbow.

She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, twisting her lips just so that she could place a kiss on the lavender-scented thumb muscle rubbing her cheekbones.

Deanna felt her best friend’s breath come to life, more and more and more, tickling her wrist, until it stopped dead at the touch of her lips to her hand.

She felt the sudden urge to feel more, just more, but before she could pull Jo towards her, her hand disobeyed and overstretched away from Jo's cheek as if burnt on a kettle. She stepped back, mumbling something about having to go and slumping into the night stand. She quickly, however clumsily, fetched her clothes from the bed and ran for the door, praying Jo wouldn't follow her and make her speak more than two syllables. She made for the kitchen where she'd exchanged the coat of her bicycle suit for the apron. She listened for Jo until she was confident she wasn't going to follow her. She slowed down to dress back into her suit after shoving the other clothes into an old bag Sam used for produce and the like. She only just had the mind to move the lavender from the front pocket of the apron now hanging over a chair to one of the pockets of her suit.

Budgering herself to delay the tears for five more minutes or until she'd reached Sam and Ellen on her bicycle, whichever came first, she tied the bag to the handlebars. She jumped on and peddled as quickly as she could, trying to save herself from tears and emotions. The wind flowing past her made it feel like it was working. As though she really was running away from them. She knew it was a lie, obviously, but it didn't stop her from trying.

Not even prepared to say hello to her baby, she merely set a foot on the bricks as soon as she was in shouting distance from Sam.

“I have to go now...if I want to make it back to he house before sunset.”

She could see Sam's face as he squinted at the sun high above them, but he didn't push her and in stead he waved her goodbye, smiling in what Deanna supposed should be a comforting way. It only made her cry truly and she turned back around before he could see.

On the ride home, many thoughts entered her mind before she could squash them in the fashion that came naturally to her. All she knew was that whatever feelings there were crawling around inside of her, they wouldn't make her father proud. Or her. Or Sam. Oh God. Sam.

Of course, guilt and anguish were among them and these were easily identified, as they were primary aspects of her personality. With every thought and memory and emotion another tear came rolling down her face. By the time she could hardly see where she was going and before she would actually start to hyperventilate, Deanna stepped off her bicycle. She closed her hand over her mouth to make the rapid breaths stop. It didn't remotely work as she'd hoped and as soon as she would start to feel like her breathing wasn't as rapid as before and she removed her hand, the whole cycle just started all over again.

She knew she wasn't having a heart attack, but she felt like she was having one all the same. Her head went numb, like it wasn't attached to her body and was threatening to fall off at any moment. If she wouldn't faint first, that is. In that case she'd just bump her head to the small stone wall.

Leaving her bicycle on the grass, she walked towards the trees, looking for shelter. She wasn't far from the house now and the thought of having to go in there made the ache in her chest tighten even more.

She leaned back against a tree and let herself slip to the ground as the bark of the chestnut tree made her suit ride up. The additional feeling of having her chest restricted sent her over the edge. She leaned forward to sit on her knees. Some of the buttons came off as she tried to release herself. She didn't even realise she still had on the corset until she had scraped herself through the layers and didn't understand why she was still being strangled. Her suit was off, wasn't it?

Unable to make herself just _calm down_ , she collapsed on the grass where she would eventually regain her breath, even if it would take her a much longer time to still her mind.

 


	3. Chapter three

An hour after her collision with the ground, Deanna wiped the evidence off her clothes as much as possible before walking into the kitchen. She was greeted, not by Mrs Otis at the door, but by chaos far and wide. She saw people crowding around the base of the stairs, where she could just spot the footman, Michael, sitting on the first step. 

“Please take a step back everybody,” Deanna heard mrs Mills tell the crowd.

“Yes, miss Tabot, that includes you. Please, mr Singer, could you call for the doctor and everybody else, back to work!”

After a moment's hesitation, everyone not needed at the scene left. Mr Otis noticed her standing still in the empty kitchen.

“Deanna, what on earth are you doing here already?” she asked her, not sounding pleased, exactly. Deanna gapes at her for a second, before she's cut off.

“Come help us. We have had enough to to, having to do your job on top of ours.” She pointed her finger to nothing and added, “Now get dressed properly. You will have to do for serving tea.”

Deanna should really have objected to having to work on her day off, or to being told she'd have to do, with everybody else occupied. Moreover, she'd have to do for something as simple as serving tea. She didn't, however. She knew that nothing she could say would make a change – or a positive one, at least.

~

So she strode back to her room, consciously slower that she'd like to in order to avoid stares. She was wishing to the stars or her fairy godmother or anyone that Charlie had already washed and put back her work clothes. She desperately needed the one she could pretend to be a proper maid in if she was to go upstairs.

Barging into her room, she found Charlie doing just that. She was standing in front of the cupboard with both Deanna's and her dresses. Yet it didn't take her even a second to turn towards the creaking door and notice how Deanna looked utterly depleted. She looked like a drowned rat minus the water.

“I need those,” Deanna demanded rather bluntly. Charlie responded by throwing her own dress into the cupboard and closing the distance between them. Deanna wasn't much of a hugger, but in this case, she'd just let Charlie do her thing despite the germs. She supposed it was only polite.

“I have to go...” Deanna said, grabbing Charlie by her upper arms and meeting her eyes as she stepped back. “I have to go serve tea and I... I don't know, I just need my dress.”

Charlie brought the dress from where she'd smudged it against Deanna's back and gave it to her. Deanna thought about how she had such a lovely smile and how it was always there, even when Charlie wasn't feeling all that brilliantly. Her face was practically sparkling. You just knew that even if the night was ink-black, there would still be the stars to guide you.

Charlie must have been in a hurry (weren't they always?), but she took the time anyway to make Deanna feel more comfortable in her own skin. She joked about how one day, telephones would bring the apocalypse because we would always be talking to each other once everybody got one. And they were bound to become portable, she said. Actually, Deanna wasn't sure these were jokes. In the end, she soaked up Charlie's amazement and laughed at her tone while she got dressed and Charlie flattened out the creaks in her appearance. For a few minutes, life was bearable.

~

A few minutes and a lecture from mrs Otis later, Deanna was once again filling the teapot and carefully arranging the china on the tray. She thought about Lady Castielle on that first night they met. How she had made her Earl Gray and Lady Castielle had wrinkled her nose at it, because it was too bitter to her tastes. She thought about how Lady Castielle might like her mother's tea, with the lavender. She thought about how Jo had liked... no. No.Enough with this. She resumed her movements, the ones she had inadvertently halted and walked upstairs.

~

The first stop was with Her Ladyship. Lady Naomi Shurley, her name was. A woman whose rigid posture screamed aristocracy. She was always on her guard, and she knew a lot more about anything and, more accurately, anyone than she usually let on. Even tough the room was eerily empty, in the sense that there should be a lot more in it than there actually was. It felt as if, and Deanna knew she was right about this, Her Ladyship owned much more than she was showing here. Who she was hiding it for, Deanna did not know. His Lordship, her husband Crowley Shurley, slept in the room next door, so she knew it wasn't him.

Civilized as always, Her Ladyship merely motioned for Deanna to leave her cup at her side while she continued to write something. A letter, Deanna presumed. She stepped out of the vacuum as quickly as she respectfully could and resumed her way to the eldest son, Lord Uriel.

~

Taking a deep breath before knocking on his door, Deanna almost turned around. Her Ladyship may not be amiable in the slightest, but at least she kept her opinion on Deanna to herself. Uriel wasn't so inclined and was normally delighted to see her, in the sense that she provided an amazing scapegoat for all that humanity had wronged him.

Her knock wasn't answered and Deanna didn't think he would have liked the tea anyway. That isn't to say he wouldn't have accepted a cup. In fact, he would have taken any opportunity to dis-animate Deanna as much as he possibly could, and then Deanna or one of the other maids would find the tea untouched hours later. Either way, Deanna was glad to have an excuse to continue to Lady Anna.

~

Lady Anna, she suspected, had a little bit of the same spirit in her as Lady Castielle did. She was caring and respectful to everybody, for as long as they were to her. The rumours weren't as pronounced as the ones about Lady Castielle, but then, how could they be? Still, she had heard a story or two; mostly about a man. Adam Milligan came from an old family, but he was adopted when he was just a baby, so whatever relation he had to the family he grew up in, it wasn't a blood-relation. Therefore, it was not enough to make him a suitable husband to Lady Anna.

She was invited into the room immediately. Her eyes swam over the canopy bed and the dressing table filled with luxurious perfumes and pictures of family and friends. Then, they focused on the source of the gasp, sitting behind the table.

“I am so terribly sorry, I was simply expecting Mister Milton,” Lady Anna explained.

“Yes, milady, he had an accident so he is not able to serve tea today,” Deanna quavered. “I hope you are not... disappointed, milady?”

“No, no, of course not. Please, Deanna, could you place my tea here? I must be careful not to spill it, so please, right in the middle of the table. We don't want Masters' hard work to be for nought, do we.”

Deanna nodded as she continued to pour.

“Thank you, Deanna.”

“You are welcome, milady,” Deanna answered as she picked up the tray and presumed her way through the hall.

~

Lord Balthazar was once again an altogether different man and Deanna wasn't entirely sure what to think of him. He was a regular dandy, a hedonist pur sang and rather rude, especially for someone of his background. At least he wasn't especially rude to Deanna. In a world that was this obsessed with class and hierarchy, Lord Balthazar had a surprising lack of arrogance; he simply despised mankind in general - except for the beauty of its creations, obviously.

Lord Balthazar was absolutely most like his father (in contrast to his American mother) in the way he didn't drink tea – he lived it. As most Englishmen do, Deanna supposed. She wasn't at all surprised when the door opened not even a second after she'd announced her arrival.

Polished as ever, Lord Balthazar opened the door on Deanna, his face either smirking or gleaming, She couldn't tell.

“Why, hello there, Mike. How you've changed.”

Deanna really wasn't one for awkward conversations and her superior joking was always the start of one. It wasn't that she didn't think him funny, but the fact that she was always to remain calm. This wasn't Deanna's forte either.

And now she remembered why she didn't like him.

“Michael will be back soon, my lord. Where would you like your tea?”

That was most definitely a smirk.

“Of course...I'm sorry I appear to have forgotten you name...”

“Deanna, my lord. My name is Deanna,” she answered, putting the tea on the desk he'd gestured towards.

“Why, thank you Deanna. Now if you'd please excuse me, I need to dress for dinner and without the help of my footman, I hear,” he said as he casually started unbuttoning his dress shirt.

As though Deanna needed more awkwardness in her life. Amazing.

~

She knew it was customary for her to work her way down the ladder, starting with the head of the house and ending at the youngest, but she was really glad to be finally knocking at Lady Castielle's door. She almost forgot to boot, what with all the sneaking in she did in the middle of the night to steal Shrimpie.

It soon turned out that remembering to knock was the best thing she'd ever done in her life, for Meg, standing behind Lady Castielle, would doubtlessly be clever enough to notice something like that. Deanna wouldn't put it past her, either, to somehow figure out there was a dog hidden in the next room, only because Deanna forgot to knock.

“Good evening, Milady. I have your tea ready for you.”

Lady Castielle waved Meg's hands away from her hair, making her drop the knot she was halfway done making. Lady Castielle ran her fingers through her hair as she walked over to Deanna. Then, she took the lid off the teapot, sniffing the steam. Deanna, knowing exactly what she was looking for, couldn't help but crack a smile.

“Thank you, Deanna,” Lady Castielle answered as she figured out the tea was not, in fact, Earl Grey. She gently took the cup from Deanna, careful not to spill as Deanna knew she often did.

“Wasn't it your day off today, Deanna?” Lady Castielle continued.

Deanna, evidently as surprised as Meg that the youngest daughter of the family had remembered such a trivial fact, rubbed her neck before answering.

“Yes it was, milady. I came back early to find Michael having fallen off the stairs, so I offered to replace him tonight. Or,” Deanna added hastily, ”just for serving tea, I mean. I shouldn't want to presume I could do his job completely or even in part.”

Lady Castielle tilted her head as she often did and Deanna only broke her gaze once she saw Meg shifting behind Lady Castielle rather impatiently.

“You're busy, milady. I should go,” Deanna said as she swiftly took the tray and turned towards the door.

“Deanna...” Lady Castielle interrupted. “I was wondering... Actually, Meg, I wonder if you could go and iron the dress for me.”

Lady Castielle waited until Meg had left the room until she spoke again.

“I'm sure I'm being a nuisance and I don't presume you have anything to say on the matter... Therefore if you do not wish to do so, please do not, but...” Lady Castielle kept rambling, which was all kinds of disturbing in its own right, but when she saw Deanna's reassuring smile she continued: 

“I was thinking about tomorrow's guest. As I am sure you've heard, there is to be another man to be flung at me and I'm not entirely sure if I want to be there at all. I feel that I ought to flee to London. Meg, of course, is terribly unhelpful and my family are conspiring against me. I know better than to tell them in advance I don't want to marry him, but it's true. I shan't. Please, Deanna, you are the only person I trust to tell me the truth and not inform my family about this conversation,” she added as she noticed Deanna's contemplative expression.

“Milady, I do not know a lot about you and your family, but from what I've heard it would be rather a bad idea to tell them to leave you be. I would say you should try to simply get through the day tomorrow. It's not your wedding yet, milady. Tomorrow will end soon enough, the man will leave and your family will not be able to accuse you of not having tried.”

“You are correct. You are absolutely correct. I am acting ridiculously. Forgive me, Deanna.” Castielle stammered out in slow motion as she looked down at the cup of tea in her hands.

“No, no, milady, you're...” Deanna started. Lady Castielle was, what exactly? Overreacting? Taking things too seriously? Deanna sighed as she tried to think of an answer that was appropriate yet truthful. The “may I speak frankly” was always implied at this point, but Deanna mustn't ever forget that Castielle – Lady Castielle was still her superior. In fact, she was her superior's superior's superior.

Still, the mother instinct that came with being Sam's older sister and having their parents was playing up. Deanna really wanted nothing more than to reach out to Castielle; to touch her arms or something, despite how improper and germ-spreading the gesture would be. She looked so lost and Deanna didn't know what to say to make a difference. The sadness radiating from Lady Castielle settled behind her ribs.

“Milady, I...There is no need to apologise. You're not being ridiculous and honestly, I would be climbing Rapunzel's hair trying to get away from a suitor.”

Lady Castielle, looking at Deanna as she started to speak again, tilted her head and squinted in her usual fashion. The gist seemed to amuse her either way.

“Thank you, Deanna. I shall inform my mother that I am in desperate need of a – what did you say? Ra...?”

“A Rapunzel, milady,” Deanna grinned. “Good night, Milady. I shall see you in the morning as per usual.”

“Yes. Good night, Deanna.”

~

The rest of the night Deanna drowned herself in work as she always did, this time pretending it was a day just like any other. A day on which she had had no problems whatsoever, although she scrubbed the kitchen floors more ferociously (still without much effect) and threw around the bed linen before Sarah Blake, the maid in charge of laundry, took it from her. It was altogether unsatisfying, but at least her mind had hardly time to run back to things that had happened earlier that day. Or years ago, for that matter. She mainly occupied her mind with fantasies about how she would save up some money to go live up a tower and grow her hair. She would never have to speak to another soul again.

~

She went to bed earlier than she had done in months, maybe years. It was still past the other's bedtime, however, so she still managed to sneak up a cup of lady grey.

As luck would have it, Charlie was lying in bed as she always was when Deanna came up, but crying her eyes out. Deanna, born with a fierce “I'll put the kettle on so we don't have to talk about it” mentality, promptly shoves the cup into Charlie's hands. It was a silent offering that, she hoped, offers her more comfort than words from her emotionally challenged self ever could.

To Deanna's delight, Charlie was not so inclined and put her forehead on Deanna's shoulder. Her hands clasp the cup while her shrugging brings the boiling hot liquid dangerously close to the edge. Before falling victim to second degree burns, she laid one arm around Charlie and took the cup with the other hand.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?” Deanna asked tentatively.

“She's why I'm back here. I...I go to the hospital whenever I can, and I just...” Charlie paused to regain her breath in between sobs. “I just... I read to her. She used to read me to sleep at night when I was a kid. Sh— she'd read me Frankenstein. She's the reason I love the stuff I love.”

Charlie paused as Deanna tried to fill in the blanks. She'd never heard Charlie speak about her mother, or of any other family members, for that matter. She knew she came from London, but other than that, it was her interests and her kind heart that made Deanna befriend her, not her history.

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

Charlie looked up at her, her eyes filled with fury. “She's not gone!”

Deanna forgot to rub her back for a few seconds, before regaining herself and asking her what had happened.

“She's been asleep for years and the doctors have officially given up now. I – they can't give up! We have to save her!”

Deanna's eyes filled with tears as she was flung back into history. She found herself back in time, when her own mother was ill; the desperation leaking into the future. Even after all these years, the grief was raw and burned a whole through her chest.

“My...my mother died, years ago. Cancer. I couldn't believe that even though it was the 1890s, for Heaven's sake, and still, there wasn't a thing the doctors... that anyone could do.”

Charlie finally looked up at her, quietly processing the message of “I know what you're going through” that was buried beneath her best friend's words.

She picked up the tea from her bedside table, Deanna's arm following her as she leaned forwards. She sat back and settled her head on Deanna's shoulder. The warmth from the embrace drained the pain away as her breath grew steadier.

“You've got to let her go, Charlie. You've got to let them go, the people you let down, the ones you couldn't save...”

Charlie paused before she answers, “Is that what you do?”.

Deanna chuckled despite her tears.

“It's the opposite of what I do, but I'm not exactly a role-model.”

“That's not true.” 

Charlie sat up slightly as she sipped from the tea Deanna was still holding. She sighed in relief.

“The tea – it's my mother's; 't was, 't was my mother's. I brought some lavender from her garden,” Deanna added after some hesitation, afraid that even mentioning the blasted flowers would somehow make her think of the smell they left on Jo's fingers and then of Jo in general and then she'd get stuck in another hissifit.

Deanna could count her blessings singlehandedly. Still, Charlie's weight on her shoulder and the way it grounded her was definitely one of them.

“She used to bring it to me when I couldn't sleep. We call it Lady Grey,” Deanna added with a grin.

Charlie minutely moved her head.

“Having trouble sleeping because of the dog, or are you just sleep-deprived because you get up in the middle of the night to help Lady Castielle out with her furry little problem?”

And that was suddenly the end of the grounding exercise, so Deanna shot up, gaping like a goldfish while her breath sped up.

“No, no, no, Deanna, listen to me! It's alright, nobody knows, nobody knows,” Charlie hastened to add as she crossed the room with her hand forward, as though Deanna was some wounded animal. “You're only going to have to bribe my silence with more of this tea every night, as I shan't live without it any longer.”

Deanna sniggered, despite her urge to slap the living daylight out of her friend.

“As you need your rest more than I do – and I can not believe I'm saying this because I've never been more tired in my life -” Deanna tilted her head in agreement, “I'll allow you to finish this cup,” Charlie concluded as she set the cup on Deanna's bedside table.

“I made it, you damn fool.”

“I know, I am a fool. Only, I cannot believe that you are so brave as to risk your job and your life by extension, every day, only to take care of the dog, and I cannot bring bring myself to visit -”

Deanna could hear how Charlie was fighting back the tears again.

“I understand, but you're wrong. I'm not brave. And you not wanting to say goodbye to your mother yet... I get that. Doesn't make you a coward.”


End file.
